Second Best
by AG-Prentice
Summary: This three-part, hopefully funny ficlet to relate Preston Lodge's arrival in Colorado, prior to his boarding the same train that brought Michaela and Sully back from their honeymoon. It might shed a whole new light on Preston's attitude towards the Sullys...
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note: This story mirrors the last three chapters of Nights in White Satin._**

 _Tuesday May, 31_ _st_ _, 1870, Denver, Colorado._

Preston A. Lodge the Third stepped down from the passenger car of the train, assuming an air of confident and dignified superiority, unwilling to let the rigors of his journey out West faze him. He was determined to succeed in this new venture, this whole new life he was about to carve out for himself, and no amount of soot, dirt and wrinkles on his clothes could stop him!

He was about to turn thirty, and it was high time for him to step out the tall shadows of his father and four older brothers. They were all well-established, highly successful businessmen, all married to beautiful, proper ladies from the upper crust of Boston, New-York and Washington society. But he, Preston, felt that it was up to him to shake up the complacency his family was nestled in by being the bold one, the one who would embody the American spirit of risk and adventure, and give the Lodge name a new luster. He would use his own financial resources and the business acumen acquired while working alongside his father and eldest brother for the past seven years to forge his own empire. He certainly counted on his well-off relations right here in Denver and his socializing skills to start on the best foot. He would succeed and show his skeptical father what he was capable of!

But first things first, he needed refreshment and a good hot meal after five long days on the train, and a less than pleasant service between St. Louis and Denver. Hailing a streetcar, he asked to be driven to the best hotel in town, then sat back on the upholstered seat with a grateful sigh. He took advantage of the brief ride to take in his surroundings: Denver was not quite as big and impressive as he had envisioned, yet the still rough aspect of the town filled him with the eagerness of the hungry wolf spotting the young and innocent lamb, impatient to sink its fangs into the tender flesh. And Preston could barely wait the moment he would begin raking in the dollars. So many opportunities seemed right there at his fingertips!

As his transportation stopped in front of the steps of the hotel and a bellboy rushed over to offer his assistance, Preston was still lost in his daydream, so that when he looked up at the elaborate entrance of the edifice, he had the distinctive impression of being struck by a vison of his future. A hotel! Oh, wouldn't that be grand? Now that was something no one would ever expect from him, yet a formidable way to stand out! His heart accelerated as his mind's eye envisioned marble staircases, crystal chandeliers and luxuriant Persian carpets, walls adorned with master paintings and he couldn't help but grin widely at the prospect. The cautiousness his father had tried to instill in his boys, at the same time as a strong taste for competition, had never felt more like heavy chains to Preston than right at this moment when everything seemed possible as long as he stood his ground. Buoyed by this certainty of a bright future ahead, he strode to the front desk with a definite spring in his step.

Harold Whitaker, the chief clerk, instantly perked up at the sight of the gentleman approaching his counter. Like most travelers who came to the hotel straight from the train station, his appearance was quite a bit ruffled, yet there was no denying he came from money, not only because of the high quality materials his stylish suit, tie and hat were made of, but there was that air… Harold had seen enough patrons come and go to tell who was well-bred, and who came from less sterling background, in one single glance… Like the couple in the nuptial suite, for example. Now those two were an amusing mystery, one most employees had been indiscreetly speculating and whispering about in the kitchens, the laundry room, even right under his nose. The woman was a physician – _how incongruous!_ – whose accent unmistakably pointed at a privileged background in New England, but who had been living long enough out west to have the uppity edge of that accent rounded off.

Her husband was another story. For someone who was definitely one of those mountain men who populated the Conquest of the West's mythology and seemed more inclined to wear some kind of Indian garb rather than regular, proper clothes, he was polite, even impressively courteous… well if one discounted the couple of times young Samuel Fincher, one of the bellhops stationed in their corridor, had most likely interrupted their romance… The most striking feature of the couple, indeed, wasn't the social gap between them, but their mutual devotion, their burning passion for one another that was as plain as the nose on one's face. They weren't the first, neither would they be the last newlyweds to spend their honeymoon in the hotel, but even to the pragmatic Harold, this couple was sure to stand out in his memory for quite a long time.

When the newcomer cleared his throat with a hint of impatience, Harold shook himself from his musings, realizing nervously he had made a potential client wait and risked turning him over to a concurrent hotel, and plastered on his well-practiced, most obsequious smile of greeting.

"Good day, Sir. How may I be of assistance?" the clerk recited with the required cheerful formality.

"Good day," Preston brightly answered, quickly dismissing this first tiny incident in his glorious plans as nothing worth getting upset over, as his father would have for certain. "I'd like your best room."

Harold debated for a second whether to announce this demanding young man that the presidential suite in question was presently occupied, and that was one second too late, for the obviously sharp-minded gentleman picked up on his hesitation. "I see, it's already taken… Well, never mind," he muttered, his lips pursed in vexation.

Once more, Harold feared the man might seek the luxury of the best suite in another hotel, so he hastened to say, "We have other extremely fine suites, Sir, to accommodate all your needs. We take pride in offering nothing but the best to all our clients, the best view of the mountains, the best _cuisine_ , the best services…" He swiveled around to take the key to the room one-o-six, which was actually the Presidential suite's twin. The suite one-o-seven, occupied by the honeymooning couple, had been deemed the best one because it received the best exposition to the sun, as well as possessed the highest level of privacy, being situated at the end of the corridor before its bend, with only one direct neighboring room, yet still separated by the tiled wall of the wash room.

Seeing the doubtful look upon the man's face, the clerk went on, "The second best room just happens to be still available…"

" _Second_ best?" Preston repeated, frowning as if insulted.

The clerk swallowed nervously, feeling like he had made a beginner's blunder. "I can assure you, Sir, that this suite has very little to envy to the presidential one. And… in order to make up for the inconvenience, let us offer you your first night here, supper and room service included." Harold felt his palms sweat at his own words, wondering whether his manager would approve of such prodigality toward a patron who wasn't a regular, when he hadn't received any explicit instructions for special treatment. He suddenly doubted his own sixth sense when it came to winning the customers' loyalty and then reaping the benefits of a laudatory word-of-mouth… Doing his best to regain his confidence, he gave a firm tap on the call bell to summon a porter to show the new guest to his room and transmit the special instructions for the night to the other members of the staff.

Preston almost refused, yet the offer was too financially interesting, and he thought he could actually enjoy making that impertinent clerk squirm and sweat some more by making full use of the free room service. He didn't intend to stay too long in the hotel anyway, as he hoped his meeting with Ezra Leonard that evening would prove to be fruitful both in term of business openings, but also in quickly locating suitable lodgings. Grinning maliciously, he followed the porter up to the second floor. The room was indeed large and comfortable, though not nearly as luxurious as the best hotels back east. He also noticed with disdain that the indoor plumbing was minimal and didn't allow for taking a hot bath unless someone was to haul primitively heated water into the tub. There was a large kettle on the hob in the chimney, yet, it would take forever heating enough water that way.

"Humph… How does one take a proper bath here?" Preston asked testily to the porter.

"Not to worry, Sir. We can draw you a hot bath in two shakes of a lamb's tail. You just gotta ask!"

Preston cringed all the more at the young man's vernacular, but refrained from commenting. If he was to settle out there, he'd better get used to those types as soon as possible, as long as he didn't let his own standards decline.

"Well, I certainly hope so, as I need a bath right now."

"Sure thing, Sir. D'ya need me to send up the barber, too? Maybe have your suit pressed, too?" the bellhop offered, in the hopes of getting a generous tip for his zealous diligence.

Preston stroked his slightly prickly jaw pensively, thinking it wouldn't do to show up at Mr. Leonard's doorstep all scruffy with a rumpled outfit, and nodded his approbation.

As promised by the staff, it was only a matter of minutes before Preston was settled comfortably in the tub, a complimentary glass of French champagne in his hand. If this was the hotel policy of making up for any kind of inconveniences that might befall their customers, he wasn't about to complain. This gave him a renewed boost of confidence, as he pictured himself actually enjoying the move so far away from Boston and building the financial empire he was dreaming of… Then he tried to imagine his father's reaction, but all he could see was Preston Sr.'s skeptical smirk. But then again, Preston mused, there was no pleasing the old man. What was more important was to make quite an impression on the good people of Denver and its area, to earn the respect and trust of powerful allies, and why not joining the Statehood for Colorado movement, start a political career as well…

"Senator Lodge," he sounded out wistfully, extremely pleased with the result.

With that thought, he emptied his glass and got out of the water so fast he nearly slipped, in his eagerness to get ready in time for his forthcoming meeting with the mining magnate Ezra Leonard. Yet, the brief surge of adrenalin in his veins didn't dampen his spirits one bit.

He would succeed, he was sure of it!

Upon returning from his visit to Mr. Leonard, Preston didn't feel like going down to the smoking room in the hotel, as he had first planned to, to meet and socialize with some prominent businessmen. Leonard's knowledge of the state of affairs in the Colorado territory had been invaluable indeed, yet not quite in the way Preston had expected. Leonard had strongly discouraged him from starting any business right here in Denver. For a moment he thought that maybe Leonard was merely trying to protect the interests of wealthy and influent partners for his own agenda, and even now, as he sipped on the Bourbon he had requested to be brought to his room _pronto_ , he still had doubts regarding Leonard's true intentions. But the more he thought about it, the more what Leonard had said about starting a bank where competition was scarce, better yet inexistent, made sense. The only reason Preston had not considered it as face value right away was that he had been raised into believing that competition was one of the major driving forces of economy alongside free entrepreneurship. But starting where everything needed to be built, being the one to lead an entire community to prosperity? Now that was some challenge! One that was scary and exhilarating at the same time… The tremendous charge was daunting, to say the least, and the question whether he would be up to such a wager kept pricking his thoughts.

Ezra Leonard had read Preston's mind and figured out his deepest ambitions as easily as he could decipher the economic jargon on the financial pages in the newspaper. Yet, he had not laughed them off, nor had he dispensed his advices in a patronizing, even condescending way as Preston Lodge the Second was so prompt to do. In fact, Preston had felt welcomed at dinner, and Leonard's son, Caleb had played a large part in making him feel like he was worth of approval and admiration. In fact, Caleb's wide-eyed curiosity and enthused comments had awaken in Preston a vague longing none of his nephews ever managed to elicit, that of finding the right woman who would give him a son. One he would raise differently from the way he had been brought up himself. This being compounded by having Ezra taking to calling him _son_ with an unexpectedly pleasant familiarity and insisting on his new young friend to call him on the first name basis as well.

His hotel room now felt far too large, empty and cold in spite of the fire that had been lit in the chimney. It was late spring, nearly summer even. When he had left Boston, the nights there were already being occasionally stuffy. But as balmy as the temperature had been during the day, there was now a definite chill coming from the nearby mountains since sundown. For but a split second, Preston felt gripped by the childish anxiety one experienced when confronted to entirely new faces, places and atmospheres with no familiar objects, landmarks or people there to reassure him. Of course, he shrugged off that silly feeling as soon as it appeared. A Lodge should never allow himself to fear anything or anyone. The unknown was only to be considered in its exciting dimension and its adventurous potential. _Nothing less_. He had nothing to fear. _Nothing at all_.

Right then and there, Preston suddenly changed his mind about going down to the smoking room. He picked up a few Cuban cigars from their box, in case he might need to share one or two with whomever he might make the acquaintance of down there. He certainly intended to keeps his eyes and ears peeled for any bit of information that could give him a clue about where to set up his business.

As he jogged down the stairs, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, struck by the sight of a woman standing near the base of the staircase. She was obviously distinguished, as shown by her attire, but also the way she carried herself, and a light whiff of her floral perfume wafted up to tickle deliciously his nostrils. Her face was turned toward the front desk, so Preston couldn't see whether she was beautiful or not. Yet, what little he did see was already charming, from her thick, reddish gold hair put up in an elegant braided chignon, to the gracious curve of her cheek, jaw and neck. She felt familiar to him, evoking the numerous ladies he had come across at home. But though he couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was that gave him that impression, he knew somehow that the woman wasn't some decorative female who would turn out as a nagging old biddy when getting up in years. No, experience from years of disappointing courting had taught him how to tell women who had little to offer from those worthy of attention, rare women worth fighting for… Women who were the prestigious trophies of an implacable race to win their hand.

He had flirted with countless pretty young women during his days as a bank manager apprentice, at first without seriously looking for tying the knot, but as he had grown more mature, he had found less and less interest in prim chit-chat and superficial banter. The women he had met were for the most part from decent families, and as such had received some basic education, yet they woefully lacked wit and fire. And those of a more disreputable background were hopelessly ignorant, something Preston could never tolerate no matter how physically attractive the woman was. He dreamed of someone cultured and spirited, a woman who could be his perfect match, _truly_ , not just any match deemed suitable enough by both parties' families. He deserved better.

He was well aware, like any other eastern citizen, of the many tales from the Frontier about Indians, wild beasts, trigger-happy cowboys and axe-wielding mountain men. He had also heard of those bold, independent and beautiful women who knew how to shoot a gun as well as they could bake an apple pie and stitch up patchwork quilts. They were also more often than not depicted as being rather generous with their favors, though Preston suspected this part was mostly made up. At least, he hoped so. A feisty and passionate woman was sure to appeal to him, but he would never consider consorting with someone who lacked the most elementary morals!

Was the woman a few feet from him an adventuress hiding her scheming ways behind a mask of genteel respectability? Or had she already been conquered by one of the pioneering businessmen he was about to mingle with? From where he stood, he couldn't see her left hand.

His heart accelerating, he took a step down, ready to offer his arm to escort her to her room and use the short stroll to learn all he could about her, maybe invite her out to see a play, or have dinner in the fanciest restaurant – provided, of course, there was no husband. But then again, what kind of husband would leave their wife standing alone in the hotel lobby, deserted at this hour? He followed her gaze, but only saw one man leaning casually over the front desk and talking to the night clerk. The man had hair much longer than what was fashionable, and as he concluded his business with the hotel employee, he turned toward the staircase, his loosened tie and his nonchalant, bow-legged gait sure-fire clues that he was no gentleman, but clumsily trying to pose as one. However, Preston's mocking smirk turned sour as the strange man smiled to the woman and she, in turn, extended her hand to him. A hand whose fourth finger sported a sparkling diamond ring and thick wedding band. The man, instead of taking her hand, wrapped his arm around the woman's slender waist with undignified familiarity. Preston half-expected her to swat his arm off her, or at least scold him but to his dismay, she did neither but instead leaned into her lover's embrace and let him lead her up.

Suddenly, Preston realized that if the couple were to look up, they would catch him staring at them. He couldn't let himself be embarrassed in such a way so he did an about-turn, quickly re-ascended the stairs and hid behind a large potted exotic plant. Totally absorbed by one another, the pair walked past him without so much as a suspicious glance in his direction. He sighed with relief, only to feel like all air had been sucked out his lungs as his mind registered the stunning beauty of the woman. No – _beautiful_ wasn't the proper adjective to do her justice. Actually, no word could adequately qualify such a mesmerizing combination of angelic features, absolute radiance – _oh, the way she was looking at that man!_ – the almost regal stance just a few seconds ago, at the foot of the staircase… Though he couldn't clearly make out the words at they were talking in hushed silence, he could hear the lilt in her sweet voice… What other graces was she hiding from the public eye but showed willingly to her lover?

Once they were far enough, Preston took another peek at them from a gap between two large leaves. The sight that greeted him turned his stomach on two counts – the couple was standing in the front of the far-end room right next to his, and the man was blindly unlocking the door, while being locked in a passionate kiss with the woman. Even from a distance, her enthusiastic abandon was unmistakable. There was no doubt whatsoever about the nature of their next actions once they had disappeared inside…

A surge of boiling hatred and envy scorched Preston's heart and thoughts. How unfair! How unnatural that match was! What in high heaven had happened to bring such opposites together…? Preston tried to get himself back under control. _Think, man, think. Either she is a brainless creature corrupted by one of those questionable characters, or…_ Hard as he tried to make sense out of that situation, _nothing_ did make sense. He kept remembering the obvious signs that they were indeed married, not just engaged in some disgraceful affair, and obviously head over heels with each other… What a slap in the face!

Defeated and bitter, Preston momentarily forgot all about what his plans had been for the evening, the shock of what he had just witnessed even blotting out the happy anticipation he had experienced earlier regarding his business and political ambitions. He drank a couple more glasses of whisky, then slumped into bed, surrendering to a drunken slumber – his last thought to the disgusting idea of the beautiful woman next door surrendering to what was surely some primeval, rough mating…

 ** _To be Continued…_**

 _P.S. : I'm really sorry it's taking so long for me to put things up. I'm doing my best not to let Real Life get in the way, but I have health issues that considerably alter my abilities to focus and imagine, let alone romantic and/or entertaining things. I still hope you'll find this NIWS "companion" funny._  
 _I'm going to finish my in-progress projects. I just don't know how long it's going to take. Who knows, maybe reviews will cheer me up enough to help me finish!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Wednesday, June 1_ _st_ _, 1870._

Preston felt quite disoriented upon waking up the following morning, but being a sharp-minded man, he quickly regained his bearings. Then he cursed under his breath, upset with himself for letting the occupants of the next suite – _what an incongruous pair_ , he couldn't help but think once more – distract him from his socializing purpose. Who knows how many business opportunities had slipped by him during that time? Fuming, he shook himself awake, ignoring the dull ache behind his eyes and sprang briskly from the bed. He had so many things to do, so many schemes to plan, so many people to solicit for information!

He chose not to request help from the hotel staff for his shave and clothing, preferring to draw out the quiet of the morning as long as possible before he was to plunge into the inevitable hustle and bustle of any shrewd businessman's daily activity. He used the kettle in the hearth to heat up some water, and once he was ready, he decided to have his breakfast outside. It was ten past eight, so there was still a chance he might encounter interesting people, enjoying coffee at a café near their office.

As he locked up his room, he couldn't resist casting a disdainful look towards the next door. As much as he fought the visions, he couldn't help but picture the two occupants as he had saw them the evening before, completely absorbed by one another. The way the long haired man was looking at his mistress – he couldn't truly accept the idea that those two might actually be lawfully married – was expected toward a woman as beautiful as _she_ was. But the fact that she seemed to genuinely return the attraction was beyond him… it had to be only physical attraction. _Lust_. It was the only logical explanation. That woman had to be a depraved creature to prefer to consort with some mountain man – with a _savage_ – rather than with a civilized gentleman like himself!

Yet the bitter venom of envy churned into his stomach. Though he could now decently conceive nothing but absolute contempt toward his unwanted neighbors, that didn't stop the sliver of perverse curiosity sneaking his way into his imagination, making him wonder what it was like to lie with this kind of woman. He had a distinct feeling she was not a "professional", for she would have chosen someone who would have looked much wealthier – unless, of course, her lover had literally hit pay dirt… Still, his mind kept replaying the hungry kiss the couple had shared before disappearing into their suite over and over, and imagining the rest in masochistic, voyeuristic pleasure…

"May I help you, Sir?"

Preston jumped nervously. He realized he had been standing by his suite door, caught up in a foolish daydream about people he wouldn't want to be associated with for all the gold in California, but like a practiced comedian, he recovered quickly and stared down at the impertinent bellhop. He could have come up with a credible excuse, like he had learned to do whenever he had to justify any action his father had viewed as misconduct, but then this was only a bellboy, and he certainly wasn't about to explain himself to some meaningless hotel employee!

"No, thank you," he replied crisply with a curt nod, careful not to show embarrassment of any sort, before turning on his heel and heading toward the staircase, mercifully unaware that that the young man had actually guessed the direction of his thoughts…

Sam Fincher had a soft spot for the couple in the nuptial suite, despite the few times he had been somehow guilty of interrupting them at the most inopportune moment. But he couldn't blame them for being so much in love that they couldn't seem to get enough of each other. The man, when not upset with being interrupted, was kind, polite and generous. And judging by the way the maids, as well as more than a few female clients, were ogling him and giggling and whispering about how handsome he was, he could only come to the conclusion that ladies were finding him to their taste when it came to looks… At seventeen, Sam considered himself a man, but when comparing himself to Mr. Sully, he felt shortchanged, even somehow childish. He could only hope that one day, he would appear as handsome, strong and virile to a beautiful and smart girl as this man was to his wife… Sam smiled softly to himself, thinking how he would indeed feel on top of the word should he catch the eye of a beautiful, educated lady like Mrs. Sully. Right now, he knew a _boy_ like him wouldn't stand a chance to come between her and her husband. But the look on the face of the man now occupying the suite one-o-six told him that his lucidity wasn't shared. He could recognize vicious jealousy when he saw it, and he vowed to himself to keep an eye on that man so he wouldn't bother the newlyweds.

~ O ~ O ~

The day progressed with a mix of exciting productiveness and nail-biting unwieldiness for Preston. By noon, he had met with several prominent businessmen and secured a couple of juicy deals in the process. He also befriended the Denver Post's editor, who was from Baltimore, and with whom Preston shared many views from politics to economy, and even boxing. The two men had a pleasant lunch at Denver's best restaurant, and agreed to meet again as soon as possible.

Then, following Ezra Leonard's advice, Preston made inquiries about nearby towns that might need a bank to further their development, and it didn't take long to found out that the town of Colorado Springs was there for the taking. It had been newly equipped with a railroad station, and the few businesses in that town were for the most part handled by the First National Bank of Denver. Preston got to meet with its president Jedediah Bancroft, a most unpleasant man who made even Preston Sr. look amicable and easy-going in comparison. Pretending to be interested in working for the bank as a local representative, he deftly wormed valuable information out of Bancroft, then, extremely pleased with himself, went on scouting for more investors for his banking venture. However he refrained from purchasing land before seeing for himself the state of affairs in the place.

He went to the train station to purchase a single fare to Colorado Springs, seriously hoping to get there in the evening, or at the very last the next morning. He'd been careful with wording his inquiries, but he still feared any of his interlocutors might suddenly think of challenging him should they realize there was indeed a wealth of opportunities at their fingertips – or more exactly only sixty miles southward. Taking risks was one thing, but he wasn't about to tempt fate too much right now.

But it seemed that his plans weren't meant to be running smoothly as once more, a most inopportune mishap occurred. When he finally stepped up to the ticket booth, after an agonizingly long wait of twenty eight minutes, he had the disagreeable surprise to be notified that he wouldn't be able to get a seat before the next Friday morning… at six-thirty! More than an entire day to waste, during which anything could happen? That was simply intolerable! Preston exploded with frustration and demanded to see a manager, but it didn't do any good.

The railroad official remained totally unfazed by this man from the East acting like he owned the Kansas Pacific, and pretending he knew powerful and influential people, like it was supposed to make the railroad employees cower. The manager even derived a secret pleasure at seeing this rude customer blanch angrily when he mentioned that there were still a few stagecoaches running, that he could board one the next morning to Manitou, and then – the manager couldn't help a little grin – rent a wagon to Colorado Springs. It was obvious that the Easterner wasn't quite ripe for the rougher lifestyle of the frontier, and not as well informed as he pretended to be.

Seething at the impertinence of the railroad employees, Preston still hadn't much of a choice but to either rise up to the challenge of travelling south on his own, or wait until Friday. He eventually opted for the latter, as he might benefit from allowing himself another full day in Denver, not so much on business, but to take time to recoup, start acclimating himself to Colorado and enjoy what little luxuries Denver had to offer before taking this huge step into the unknown that was life in a small frontier town. After all, how could he hope to make an impression on the locals if he arrived dusty, sweaty, and very possibly upset? He squared his shoulders, and once more stood in line. He would take the Friday train. He mused that all things considered, maybe fate was actually doing him a favor by holding him back…

~ O ~ O ~

A message from Ezra Leonard was waiting at the front desk, when Preston came back from the train depot in time for supper, inviting his younger friend to join him and a few of his associates and their wives at the theater. Even though Preston had already seen _Le Nozze di Figaro_ at least three or maybe even four times already, he still sent word back that he would indeed attend the representation with great pleasure. Who knew what he could learn from Ezra's business partners…

The evening went by about the same way as the rest of the day. The opera itself was disappointing, dull, even awkward at times, and Preston felt no qualms about berating everything from the singers to the orchestras and the director… At least he had the satisfaction that the rest of the group seemed to agree whole-heartedly with him. The other major fly in the ointment was that he spotted the couple from the room next to his in one of the boxes on the other side of the stage during the intermission. The theater being quite small, he could see them quite clearly. Once more, he felt the hard fist of envy punch him in the stomach as he took in the radiant beauty and refined elegance of the woman. She was wearing a vibrant deep blue gown adorned with black lace, the cut and color complimenting her delicate feminine frame. Yet, seeing her leaning toward her companion, that long-haired man who seems as much at home in tails and white bowtie as a fish out of water, and whispering to him all through the representation, reawakened Preston's curiosity. What could she be telling her lover that was so important that it couldn't wait until the end of the show? Unless… Preston smirked to himself as he contemplated the idea that she could be telling her uncouth, probably illiterate lover the plot and translating the key moments so he wouldn't embarrass her should they have to discuss the opera with other patrons later…

At the end of the opera, he caught a glimpse of the couple exiting the theater rather hurriedly. He found it rather odd that the woman wouldn't want to linger and chat with the other ladies attending, but maybe her lover didn't allow her to befriend other people, keeping her jealously to himself… that wouldn't be surprising.

Though he wasn't quite suffering from a hangover, Preston still didn't feel up to a long night of socializing over cigars and bourbon, especially after such a busy and rather successful day. He pompously declined the various invitations from his new acquaintances for a game of pool or a poker, pretending he was already expected elsewhere, when all he wanted was some peace and quiet, and a good night's sleep to be at his best the next few days, which would be critical.

Back in his room, he stepped onto the balcony to enjoy the late evening coolness. Colorado was already starting to grow on him, with its spectacular landscapes and vivifying air, that seemed to be there to stimulate a man's mind and body. Again, he was struck with another vision, that of a mansion where he would live, built in such a way that he would be able of enjoy an inspiring view no matter the hour of the day. Giddy with the prospect, he felt like smoking a cigar as a way of celebrating his successes of the day and the now certain ones of the future. He rummaged through his pockets for the matches, turning out first the slip of paper on which were written the names of prominent citizen and businessmen he had yet to meet. He found the small matchbox in his waistcoat pocket, under his watch, and momentarily put the paper on the stone balustrade to free his hands and light up his cigar. Unfortunately, a gust of wind blew the precious list a few feet away, making it flutter onto the neighboring balcony floor.

Cursing under his breath for his carelessness, Preston could only see one possibility to retrieve the piece of paper. He certainly wasn't about to go knock on the neighbors' door, nor would he ask a bellhop to go fetch it, as it might be blown even further away, maybe out of anybody's reach, by the time the staff came to his rescue. No, he would have to cross the gap between the two balustrades himself. Thank goodness, they were only a couple of feet apart, that Preston crossed easily enough, being athletic and agile from all his years practicing boxing and playing baseball. It did feel undignified, though, to have to use his sportive skills in such circumstances, especially as he risked being spotted by the mountain man.

There was a soft glow coming from the windows, hinting that the fire in the hearth was the only source of light. With extreme caution, Preston crept to the spot where the paper lay, only to have it snatched once more from his fingers by another teasing rush of air. Mindful of the inhabitants of the suite, Preston managed to refrain from voicing his exasperation, and could only express his impatience by a sour grimace distorting his features. Then he heard something. It sounded like a woman's voice, and yet not quite it. He had never heard anything like this. Curiosity got the best of him, and before he could think of all the reasons he had not to cast a glance in the room, he stepped nearer.

The sight of what was going on inside knocked the breath out of him. Though he couldn't make out all the details, the scene unfolding left very little to the imagination. Usually not one to be embarrassed or overwhelmed easily, Preston had to step back for a moment. He closed his eyes trying to shut out what he had just seen. It wasn't just the fact that the couple inside was in the midst of intercourse, nor that they were both in the nude and on the floor, instead of being in bed, under the covers, like any proper couple should be. No, what was so shocking about that intimate scene, was the expression of absolute ecstasy on the woman's face, her complete lack of inhibition as she moaned and cried while her lover was pleasuring her, in a way Preston found vile and submissive, further fueling his utter contempt for the man – and for the woman! She obviously didn't know her place. Maybe this was the explanation of such an unlikely couple. She was an amoral female with deviant tastes, and maybe she was indeed married to an unsuspecting cuckold who might even be paying for the suite, while she sought satisfaction of her unnatural carnal needs with the most despicable, spineless types she could find, such as that filthy mountain man.

He risked another glance, only to find the woman now kneeling across the man's lap. Though the spectacle they were making of themselves profoundly disturbed Preston, it nevertheless sparked further his curiosity toward the woman. She was no longer matrimonies' material by any means, but Preston wondered once more about what it would be like to have an affair with her, if she might act differently when consorting with a _real man_ … But there was no denying that the sheer sensuality that emanated from her, from the way she acted, how she moved, the sounds she made, all this was stirring Preston in spite of himself. He couldn't help the physical reaction brought on by what he was seeing and hearing, and as shocked and angry as he was aroused, he moved gingerly away from the window. Shoving the folded piece of paper responsible for him being witness to the neighbors' hankey pankey, he retraced as silently as he could his steps back to his own room.

So much for a peaceful evening!


End file.
